


A Place Called Might Have Been

by Soquilii9



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: Martin Riggs yearns for what was lostMatthew Miller, Good Session, Lin Pictures and Warner Bros. Television own the premise behind Lethal Weapon.[Proud to be one of the first fanfics on AO3 written on the new series!]





	

 

 

 

Still recuperating from two gunshot wounds in his beachside trailer, Martin Riggs paced the narrow confines of his home.  Despite the crashing of the surf, it was too quiet; his mind wouldn’t shut down.  He climbed into his truck and headed down the highway.

He could stop for a drink or – he checked his watch - invite himself for dinner at the Murtaugh’s – that is, if he wouldn’t be interrupting yet another romantic night.  Trish might not mind but Rog was running out of patience.  He needn’t have worried; his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.  It was Rog texting _Dinners on U coming?_

Martin smiled.  After a rocky start, this new partnership was melding smoothly.

At the end of the evening, however, after he bid Rog and Trish goodnight, Martin’s mood crashed.  He drove back to his trailer for the night, brooding, where he finished what was left of his last bottle of tequila.  It wasn’t enough.  He got back in his truck and headed for his favorite bar.

Still favoring his right foot, he limped through the door.  It was nearly closing time; Aldo had released the staff and was wiping down the bar.  The tables were already adorned with their upended chairs.  Despite this, Riggs draped himself across a bar stool as if it was still Happy Hour.  He leaned heavily on the counter.

‘Jesus, Riggs, you’re _already_ hung over.  I better cut you off before you even get started,’ Aldo remarked as he flung the damp towel over his shoulder.  ‘Besides, we’re closing.  Y’got fifteen minutes.’

‘Shut up and pour, willya, Aldo?’

‘Your usual?’

‘What else?’

Aldo set the filled shot glass down in front of his customer.  Riggs downed the whiskey in one smooth motion and slammed the glass down, motioning for another while keeping his head down.  Aldo refilled it.

‘You’re not doin’ too good, are you Riggs?  What’s the matter with you?’

‘You know what’s the matter.  I told you about the accident,’ Martin growled.

‘Yeah, I know about Miranda.  There’s somethin’ else wrong.  What?’

Annoyed by his bartender’s probing, Riggs sat up straight, eyes locked menacingly on the man.  Aldo looked at his customer curiously, noticing a small white smear on the shoulder of his shirt.  He reached to brush it off and sniffed his fingertips.  It was the unmistakable scent of baby powder.  Aldo looked at Riggs incredulously.

‘How the hell did you get baby powder on you, man?’

Riggs’ menacing glare melted; he looked at Aldo with tears in his eyes.  Aldo knew about Miranda’s baby, even if Murtaugh didn’t…not yet, anyway.

‘Aw, man…whose baby you been holding?’

‘My partner’s little girl.  Roger Murtaugh – my new partner – it’s his baby.  Hell, I’ve met her twice now and don’t even know her name.  I--’

Aldo glanced at the clock.  It was 1:50 am.  He needed to close up but sensed his friend needed to talk.  So be it.  He gestured to Riggs to wait, crossed the room to lock the door and pull the shades. Returning to the bar, he sat companionably on a stool beside Riggs.

‘Ok, Riggs.  I’m listening.’

Martin was staring at his glass; suddenly the dam broke.  ‘I held that little girl tonight, man, and it reminded me of the first time I went to his house to have dinner with his family.  Nice family, two half-grown kids – and we’re talking and I’m telling them Miranda died, but Rog doesn’t know about the baby.  He still doesn’t.’

‘Go on,’ said Aldo.

‘I, uh…I hear this baby crying.  And it threw me.  I mean, I’m thinking, no way – gotta be the neighbor’s kid – too much of an age gap, you know?  No way would a couple their age have a baby.  Maybe it’s my imagination.  And I go upstairs and there’s Roger holding this baby girl in a rocking chair.  She was a surprise, he says.  Anyway, he hands me the baby and he says _Hey, you ever hold one of these before?_   And I say something stupid like _Oh, no, I haven’t washed my hands in a long time._  Then suddenly he’s heading out the door and I ask him where he’s going and he says _To get my keys_ – he thinks we’re gonna solve our first case before it gets handed off to another team.  And he just leaves me holding this baby…’  Riggs held his hands up to demonstrate.

Aldo waited patiently.

Riggs’ voice broke as he continued.  ‘…and I hold her against my chest and she’s so warm, Aldo, and I take her little hand in mine…her hands are so tiny, perfect little hands and fingernails and chubby wrists and I’m thinking I’ll never hold my son – see, we knew it was gonna be a boy – I’ll never feel that incredible warmth or look at his tiny little hands.  She smells so clean and sweet, and this is what it might have been like, and I’m thinking _don’t go there man_ , because it will cripple you.  It will haunt you.  But I can’t help going there.  And as long as Roger’s my partner I’m going to have to face it every day.  I’ll probably see that child grow up, knowing all the while that mine couldn’t…’

Riggs wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.  ‘So there.  There you have it.  You wanted to hear it, you got it.  Now will you shut up and pour?’

The End


End file.
